Always
by rosesinjanuary
Summary: Some days you just need someone you can count on.


One more before the premiere! Post-season 6 finale, spoilers/references.

* * *

The lab was silent except for Abby's clicking keys. Gibbs watched her tense shoulders for a moment. "Abby," he said at last.

"What?" she asked without turning around, her voice very tight.

He rarely explained himself. They were his team; they should be smart enough to figure his actions out without an endless flood of words, and to trust him even when they didn't understand. But this was different.

"She said she couldn't work with Tony," he told Abby. Told the back of her head, at least, because she wouldn't turn to look at him. "She asked me to reassign one of them. She knew what I would do." _It's not my fault,_ he wanted to say. _Please forgive me._

They were his girls. If he'd ever voiced that thought, they'd all have given him withering looks – well, maybe not Abby. Kate would have informed him crisply that they weren't 'girls,' thank you very much, they were 'women,' and they belonged to nobody but themselves. Ziva would have said nothing, but rolled her eyes and carefully tested the blade of her knife against her thumb.

But they were his – had been his – and he loved them fiercely. They were, all of them, what he would have wanted Kelly to become if she'd lived. As poised as Kate, as brave as Ziva, and as confident and joyful as Abby.

He still grieved for Kate, and now he'd lost Ziva as well, and Abby wouldn't look at him.

"You could have kept her, somehow," she said with an edge. Now she did turn to look at him, and he almost wished she hadn't. Her face was miserable, with a good bit of anger mixed in. "They would have worked it out. You could have _made_ them work it out. You _let_ her go."

"Abby," he said helplessly and took a step towards her. She held up her hand, stopping him.

"No," she told him, and turned back to her keyboard. "I'm still mad. Even if I know you didn't do it on purpose, I can't _stop_ being mad just because you want me to. I don't work like that."

He stood in silence, waiting. Finally she let out an annoyed sigh. "Come back on Monday," she said. "I might not be mad anymore then."

Gibbs turned to go.

"And send McGee down, please. I need him."

*

"McGee!"

Gibbs' bark was worse than his bite, but neither was pleasant. He jerked his head towards the back elevator. "Lab. Abby wants you."

McGee didn't really feel like untangling any complicated computer issues at the moment, but he did really want to get away from the squad room. Tony was simply sitting, staring at the empty desk across from him as though he expected Ziva to appear out of thin air. Gibbs, on the other hand, avoided looking in that direction at all, and was in the worst mood he'd been in in years.

All in all, not the most pleasant place to be. "Right, boss," he said, and saved the document he was working on.

"And McGee," Gibbs said gruffly. "I want the personal possessions in that desk boxed up and ready to be shipped to Israel before you go home today."

He wondered if they would ever stop avoiding Ziva's name. "Right, boss."

*

Abby waved a hand vaguely at the computer next to her. "It's running kind of slow," she told him. "Run some… tests, or something and see if you can figure out what's wrong."

He stared at her. "You dragged me down here to run tests on your computer," he stated in a _you've-got-to-be-kidding-me_ tone.

She fixed him with a glare. "Proper computer maintenance is not a joke, McGee, as you quite often remind me and anyone else who will listen. Now, make yourself useful."

There was a brief inner struggle. Eventually, what tipped the scales was the fact that, even with Abby's usual ear-splitting choice of music, it was a hell of a lot more peaceful down here. Plus, if he walked out on Abby… well, there would be consequences.

They tapped along in silence for several minutes, McGee becoming gradually more and more convinced that Abby had made up the computer problem. He decided not to be pissed about it. It was comforting, being down her with her. Better than the tension in the squad room.

"How's Tony?" she asked eventually.

McGee shrugged. "Not great," he admitted. "And Gibbs is…"

"…Gibbs," she finished for him, the word coming out a bit bitter. Her keystrokes got a bit louder, more forceful. He wondered if it was a sign you spent too much time with someone when you could gauge their mood by their typing style.

"And you?" he asked after a while.

She turned on him. "Me? I'm _fine._ How should I be, McGee? Huh?"

He waited.

Her shoulders slumped. "Why did she do this to us, Timmy?"

He didn't know, and he was acutely conscious of what felt like a hole somewhere. Something missing, or wrong. "Teams change," he offered, trying to comfort her. "I mean, before Kate and I got here, Tony said you guys had new people all the time."

"That was different," Abby sighed. "He hadn't found the perfect team yet. You guys were it. And then when Kate died, I thought it was ruined. I never thought Ziva could fit. But she did. And now…" She looked at him, lost. "It's all _wrong. _We're family, McGee. Family doesn't just…walk away."

McGee slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug, as much for his own comfort as for hers. "I know, Abs. I know."

He heard what sounded like a sniffle, but abided by The Rules – if Abby looked or sounded like she was crying, was going to cry, or had been crying, ignore or face a slow and painful death. "Want to get dinner after work?"

"Take out," came the slightly wavery response. "And maybe you can sneak Jethro into my apartment?"

He sighed. "Abby, you know I hate –" And then there was another maybe-sniffle, and he resigned himself to once again trying to sneak a 80 pound German Shepherd into a no-dogs building. "All right."

*

They lay stretched out on the sofa, the DVD menu of _The Princess Bride _cycling on mute in the background. Abby had wedged herself between McGee and the couch cushions with her head on his chest, and fallen asleep. Jethro curled in a ball on the floor, eyeing the remains of dinner left on the coffee table. McGee glanced at watch. It was late – almost one, and he should have gone home an hour ago. He wondered whether he could get Abby to her coffin without waking her up. Maybe if he moved _really_ slowly…

He'd barely even shifted his weight when he felt her tense against him, her fingers closing on a fistful of his shirt. "Where're you going?" she asked, her voice sleepy and worried.

McGee settled back onto the couch. "Shhh…" he murmured, and brushed her hair back where it had fallen over her face. "Nowhere." As he felt her relax again, he decided the couch really wasn't all that bad a place to spend the night. "I'm staying right here, Abs."

She sighed contentedly, but kept clutching at his shirt. "Always?"

He pried her fingers loose and laced them with his. "Always."

FIN


End file.
